


Miscommunication

by CastellanGarak



Series: The Way He Speaks [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Cloacal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastellanGarak/pseuds/CastellanGarak
Summary: “Hmm.” Garak says, pausing thoughtfully. “Are you fucking?”“What? Why would you ask that?” Damar asks, taken aback.“Well. I don’t see why you’d be in his room, answering his comm, unless you’ve stayed the night, or something.”“Oh, right.” Damar says. And then he lies through his teeth. “Yes… we’re involved.”





	Miscommunication

Damar enters the bridge to start his shift. He seats himself at his console, taking in a deep breath and letting it out as he begins his duties. Immediately coming across improperly filed paperwork, convoluted, self referencing orders, and the several unfinished reports of Dukat’s that might have begun to make sense of said orders, had they been complete, Damar turns to ask Dukat a question. Dukat is not there, naturally. Damar sighs, and looks to a fellow crewman, “Is Dukat in the bathroom or something?”

“No,” Kirul says, “The boss hasn’t reported in yet.”

“That’s odd,” Damar says. “I’m going to look for him.”

Damar’s boots click down the hall to Dukat’s quarters. Standing in front of Dukat’s door, Damar quickly smooths his hair and squares his shoulders. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to collect himself. Opening his eyes, he considers what he will say to Dukat. He doesn't have all day, though. He lifts up up a finger and presses the buzzer.  Waiting a few moments, he presses it again, when no answer comes. After about the fourth try Damar begins to suspect there is something seriously wrong. “Dukat! Answer the door!” he shouts, pounding a fist on the door. _Still no answer._ He decides using the access code Dukat isn’t aware he is in possession of is warranted.

Bursting through the door as it opens, he’s assaulted with Dukat’s snores. Quietly relieved, but reigning in his frustration, Damar pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs. He's got a migraine coming on.

“Wake up,” he says, attempting to shake Dukat awake.

Dukat groans, and opens his eyes. He rolls over to look at Damar. “How did you get in?”

“Dukat, you are supposed to be on the bridge. Shift started 30 minutes ago. Why aren’t you up?”

Dukat rubs at his eye. “Was vidcalling late last night.”

“With whom?” Damar scoffs. “... Your _boyfriend_?”

“Yeah, why? Jealous?” Dukat asks, smirking.

_Yes,_ Damar thinks. “Don’t be ridiculous,”

“Then why did you say it like that?”

Damar sucks in a breath, caught out. “I’m just annoyed. You _should_ be at work.”

“Sorry,” Dukat says, not really sounding all that sorry, in truth.

“Just go to work,” Damar says.

“Yes, alright. Let me shower first.”

“Fine,” Damar says, rolling his eyes. “Go shower.”

Dukat gets his toiletries and leaves, and Damar stands there, heart clenching. He had thought the Garak thing was just a phase, but Dukat seems serious about it. He hasn’t been serious about anyone in a long time. And he had never, _ever_ been loyal. He had not been loyal to his wife, he had not been loyal to his mistresses, but he is loyal to _Elim Garak_ , and Damar doesn’t get it.

Damar had been working up the courage to make his suit to Dukat, and then Garak had snatched him away, and now it’s too late.

The comm unit rings. Damar wanders over to it, answers without thinking. Garak’s face fills the screen. “Uh,” he says. “Is Dukat there?”

“He’s busy,” Damar says curtly.

“Hmm.” Garak says, pausing thoughtfully. “Are you fucking?”

“What? Why would you ask that?” Damar asks, taken aback.

“Well. I don’t see why you’d be in his room, answering his comm, unless you’ve stayed the night, or something.”

“Oh, right.” Damar says. And then he lies through his teeth. “Yes… we’re involved.” It’s a stupid thing to say, easily disproved, if Garak asks Dukat about it. But Damar just wants to see his face, knowing that Dukat cheated on him. Wants to make him jealous.

He watches Garak’s face eagerly, wanting to see it twist up in pain. It doesn’t. There’s no reaction at all.

“Huh, alright,” Garak says, seeming unconcerned. “Well. Tell him to call me back.” And then he hangs up.

Damar stands there, stunned. He doesn’t care. _He doesn’t care._

Damar _seethes_. The first time Dukat has ever been loyal, and for nothing. Dukat doesn’t deserve this, to give someone his whole self, and have them not appreciate it.

Damar has a sudden, wild urge to call Garak back and give him a piece of his mind, but that would be both foolish and insane, so instead, he just goes back to the bridge.

\-----

Dukat comes home from work, and goes straight for the kanar. Things have been bad with Damar for a while, which Dukat kept meaning to deal with, but he kept putting it off, and now Damar’s mood is even _worse_. Dukat would swear Damar spends most of their shift glaring at him, but he has no idea why.

The worse it gets, the less Dukat wants to deal with it. Dukat sits down with his glass of kanar, and dial’s Garak’s comm. He answers, looking frazzled.

“What do you want?” Garak asks curtly.

“I need to unwind. I was thinking we could vidfuck,” Dukat says, raising an eyeridge, and running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Garak gives him a smirk... with a dangerous edge to it? “No. I’m busy. Ask your boytoy to fuck you.”

_Ah. He was joking with me... Odd brand of humor he's got, hasn't he?_

Dukat laughs. “Uh-huh. My boytoy. I’ll go fuck him, then,” he says, voice laced with amusement.

“Yup,” Garak says, widening his eyes. There's something Dukat can't discern about his tone. “Have fun.” Garak says. He hangs up.

\----

The next day, Dukat calls Garak again. “Garak,” Dukat says warmly.

“Still busy.” Garak says.

“Doing what?” Dukat asks, curious.

“There’s this new holoprogram, so everyone needs costumes.”

“Oh,” Dukat says, disappointed. “How long do you think this will take?”

“I’ll try to finish within a month.”

“A _month_? I don’t want to wait that long.” A pang goes through Dukat, sharp and painful, and utterly surprising.

“Yeah, well, at least you have your boytoy to keep you company.”

_It’s not just the sex,_ Dukat thinks. _I want you._

But what he says, is, “Right. My boytoy.” Garak hangs up.

\---

Dukat gives him the requested month, painfully sticking it out, but then calls again.

“Done yet?” He asks hopefully

“Not quite,” Garak says, disinterestedly.

“You said a month,” Dukat whines.

“I was wrong. What does it matter? You have your boytoy.”

_Boytoy, again_ , Dukat thinks. His lips quirk up in a grin. “Enough teasing,” he purrs. “Such cutting accusations. After nothing but loyalty.”

Garak looks at him, puzzled. “What? _Teasing_?”

Dukat’s mouth drops open. “You’re serious. You really thought I was-- But our relationship!”

“ _What_ relationship?”

Dukat drops his work padd. “I-” he chokes out. “I let you inside me.”

“Oh, please,” Garak says. “You let me inside you the first time we fucked. Are you suggesting we were _boyfriends_ ,” he spits the word, lip curling in disgust, “back then?”

“Well,” Dukat says, “No. But, later, I trusted you with my _life_.”

“Is that how you saw it?” Garak asks, sounding genuinely curious. “I don’t believe you had a choice in the matter.”

Dukat sucks in a breath. “ _Nevertheless_ ,” he gets out. “I thought we were…” he trails off, not wanting to use the word ‘boyfriends,’ after the way Garak had just said it. Like it was impossible. Ridiculous. Childish.

“You thought wrong,” Garak says, simply.

“Yes, apparently,” Dukat says, and hangs up. He picks up his padd, and goes to lie in bed. The padd lights up with a text message. Dukat opens it.

[[ Don’t mope. ]] Garak says.

Dukat feels a burst of anger. [[ I don’t want to talk to you. Hence, the hanging up. ]]

There’s a pause, long enough that Dukat thinks Garak is going to leave him alone, and then,

[[ So he’s not really your boytoy? ]]

[[ Whom? ]]

[[ Damar. He said you’re fucking. ]]

[[ What the _fuck_? When? When did he say that? ]]

[[ The morning after our most recent vidfuck. ]]

Something snaps into place. He calls Garak.

“Yes?” Garak says. He looks different, bright eyed and flushed.

“Is this why you’ve been brushing me off? You thought I was cheating?”

“I’ve already said we’re not in a relationship,” Garak says, exasperated.

Dukat looks at him intensely for a moment. “Hold that thought,” he says, finally.

“I wasn’t saying anything?” Garak asks, puzzled.

“Just--hold on--I need to ask you something.”

“Uh. Then ask.”

“No, not like this. In person.”

“You’re coming back to the station? Aren’t you quite a ways?”

“Yes. It doesn’t matter. My ship could probably use some maintenance, anyway, so I’ll use that as an excuse.”

“Why? Can’t you just ask me whatever it is, now?”

“Nope. Has to be in person.”

“...Sure…” Garak says. “If that’s all, I really do need to get back to work.”

“Well. There is one more thing. I’ve never slept with Damar.” Dukat says, and hangs up. Then he goes to Damar’s quarters, and pounds on the door.

“Corat. Let me in.”

The door opens.

“Yes?”

Dukat shoulders his way in, then shuts the door behind him, and looks back to Damar.

“We’re not going to talk about what you told Garak, except to say that I’m aware of it, and if this is why you’ve been acting weird, you’re going to have to put a lid on it, because it’s affecting the crew, and I’ll not tolerate that. If you can’t get this under control, I’ll be forced to find a new second. Understood?”

“Understood,” Damar says, hunched over in humiliation. His scales had gotten darker and darker over the course of Dukat’s little speech, and now they’re practically black. “If that’s all, I’d like to be alone, now, sir.”

“Sure,” Dukat says, and leaves. He has much to prepare, for the journey back to the station.

\----

3 Weeks Later

\----

Dukat pounds on the door to Garak’s quarters, stomach amok with nerves. Garak is taking quite long to answer. _If_ he’ll even answer. He may not be home. If he’s not, Dukat is worried he’ll lose his momentum. Dukat fiddles idly with the box in his hand, trying to remain patient.

And then the door opens.

“Oh,” Garak says, surprised.

“May I come in?” Dukat asks.

Garak slams the door in his face. Dukat’s fingers clench on the box, he pounds on the door.

“Go away!” Garak shouts.

“Please,” Dukat says. “I’ve traveled three weeks to see you.”

“Yes!” Garak says. “Three weeks with no call!”

Dukat stops pounding on the door. “I couldn’t call,” he says. “Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from asking you, when it had to be in person.”

There’s a pause, a shuffle. “Asking me what?” Garak asks.

“Open the door, and I’ll tell you.”

The door opens. Dukat strides in, waits for the door to slip shut behind him, and then grabs Garak’s hand. Garak hisses, and snatches it back, glaring at him. Dukat grabs it again, and puts the box in it. “Open it.”

Garak looks cautiously down at the box, then flicks his eyes back up to Dukat. “What is it?”

Dukat has to firmly restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “Open it, and you’ll see.”

Garak does. “Chaos. Is this a courting necklace?”

“Yes.” Dukat says.

“Why?” Garak asks, sounding suspicious. His eyes narrow.

“You said we didn’t have a relationship.”

“That wasn’t an invitation to _start_ one!” Garak says hastily.

“But I want to,” Dukat says earnestly. “If you’ll let me?”

Garak hesitates, then makes a panicked face. With some effort, he wipes his face clean of the emotion. “No.” He says, firmly.

“Why not?” Dukat asks, grabbing his other hand

Garak gives an incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

Dukat huffs. “I am. I’m serious about this. About us.”

Garak’s lip curls. He pulls his hands out of Dukat’s grasp, goes to sit primly on the couch. He looks down at the box in his hands, at the necklace nestled within.

“This looks expensive--”  
  
“It is,” Dukat says, sitting down next to him.

“Damar-”

“Dealt with.”

“By the Union, if you don’t stop interrupting me--”

“Stop overthinking,” Dukat says, and kisses him.

Garak shoves him off. “ _Don’t_ touch me. You don’t call for _three weeks_ \--”

“You didn’t want me to. You kept brushing me off.”

“I kept brushing you off because you were _cheating_ on m--”

“Cheating? You said we didn’t have a relationship!”

“I _told_ you to stop interrupting me,” Garak hisses, and throws the box aside, so that he can grip Dukat by the lapels, and pull him into a kiss. After a minute, he pulls back. He gives a wild laugh.

“What?” Dukat asks, lip quirking up involuntarily.

“This is, by far, the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” Garak says, smiling in return. Then then he presses his chufa insistently against Dukat’s.

Dukat lets out a breath like it’s been punched out of him. “So you’ll say yes.”

Garak closes his eyes, nods, presses close. “I never got to ride you,” he says.

“Yeah?” Dukat asks, lip quirking up. “Gonna remedy that?”

“Yeah,” Garak says, and moves his shaking hands to fumble desperately at his belt.

“Shhh,” Dukat says, putting his hand over Garak’s. “It’s alright, slow down.”

“ _Three weeks_ ,” Garak says, and bites him. He gives up on his belt, bracing his hand on the back of the couch, tangles the other in Dukat’s hair, so that he can pull him into another kiss. Dukat kisses back, one hand going to Garak’s face, to slow the frantic kisses, the other working to get his pants open.

He manages, then tugs insistently at the fabric. Garak breaks the kiss, and stands up so he can pull them down, then climbs back into Dukat’s lap. He slips his hand into Dukat’s pants so he can pull out his cock. He lets go, resettles himself more fully onto the couch, knees sinking into the cushions. He grips Dukat’s cock and lines up, begins to sink down on it, with a sigh.

He’s not _quite_ ready enough, but he _wants_ the sting, wants the more intense stretch, it makes him feel more connected to Dukat, somehow.

He throws his head back, panting, a full body thrill going through him, as his body accepts even more of Dukat.

And then he opens his eyes, and looks down at Dukat, so he can glare. “If you let any more of your underlings fuck with our lives, I’m breaking up with you,” he says, sternly.

“Of course,” Dukat says, and grabs his hip so he can fuck up into him.

Garak whines high in his throat, aroused at the rough handling. He becomes even wetter, and the extra slickness allows him to sink the rest of the way down, which Garak does with a heartfelt groan.

Garak rests there a moment, to catch his breath, and then he’s raising himself back up, Dukat’s cock nearly sliding out of him, before he sinks back down again, breath hitching at the delicious stretch. Garak repeats the motion until his thighs are burning from the strain, until he’s so close he can barely speak.

And then Dukat sinks his teeth into Garak’s ridges, and Garak comes, fucks himself through the aftershocks, and then collapses against Dukat.

“Garak,” Dukat gasps out, trembling against him.

“Mmm?”

“May I…”

“Oh. Yes.”

The breath wooshes out of him, as Dukat flips them over, and fucks back into him. Garak braces himself with a hand against the arm rest, and holds on for the ride.

\---

“We got the couch dirty,” Garak says, mournfully.

Dukat pushes himself up onto his elbows, and looks down at him. “You came six times, and all you have to say is ‘we got the couch dirty’?”

“Well, we did!”

Dukat rolls his eyes, laying back down.

“Don’t,” Garak says, pushing at his chest. “Clean the couch.”

“This is going to be an exciting relationship, I can see,” Dukat says, getting back up.

“Yes,” Garak says, rolling the word around in his mouth. “Relationship.”

Dukat smiles.


End file.
